With My Listening Ears On

I won’t tell you where, because that would be like giving away too much information about how big of a nerd I really am, but I heard someone say the other day that they decided instead of talking to God in prayer that they would listen for a change.

Listen.

“Huh. So you listened to silence and called that prayer?” I skeptically thought. “How very profound of you, Bible beater.”

I try my darndest to be prayerful and to be thankful and to recognize in everyday moments that we are not in control. He is.

My two babies are my best proof of that.

And I try to be open – with the openest of arms – to wherever I am being led next.

Even though it’s not necessarily to the church pews on Sunday mornings. Because God knows spending my church hour disciplining rambunctious boys in the foyer isn’t necessarily getting me closer to God. It’s just putting me in a foul mood for the rest of my weekend. And I’m okay with that because I know that God doesn’t live at church. He lives everywhere.

So I thought about it. The listening thing. I wondered what you could really hear when you listen to God in prayer for once, rather than doing all the talking. Relationships are two-way streets after all.

And that night I tried it.

Lying in bed, I closed my eyes and prayerfully listened.

Guess what I heard.

I heard my husband breathing next to me. And I heard by babies breathing in the next room. I heard nothing else but the rhythmic chorus of peaceful breath. Sort of like a spirit in motion.

And what I heard reminded me that I am surrounded by love, by what really matters. That nothing else is more important. That he loves me because he gave me these three most wonderful people.

I listened to God and he certainly took the opportunity to make sure that I heard.